


The Red Rose Is a Falcon

by nebroadwe



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon - Manga, Double Drabble, Dress Up, F/M, POV Female Character, Puttin' on the Ritz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebroadwe/pseuds/nebroadwe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winry in a red dress ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Rose Is a Falcon

**Author's Note:**

> This was, and is, for Lyra Ngalia, who asked for an Ed/Win 'fic in which Winry wears a slinky red dress. Happy to oblige.

Winry knows she can't attend the Führer's wedding in a mail-order frock, but as she vainly tries to hitch the red silk bodice a little higher on her cleavage, she regrets ever having taken Garfiel's advice at the dressmaker's.  She should've insisted on sleeves -- or straps, or something (anything!) approaching a neckline.  The flutter of gauze draped across her shoulders doesn't deserve the name "wrap," either.  She doesn't feel wrapped; she feels naked and ungainly, trussed up like a plucked chicken ready for the oven.  How does any woman walk in a skirt this ... this straight?  Her slippers have no purchase on the floorboards; she's going to trip on her way downstairs and die of a broken neck, which at least will save her from the gallows for murdering Ed when he laughs at her ...

But as she minces gingerly across the foyer to meet him, he doesn't laugh.  He doesn't even blink, but the flush on his cheeks matches her dress perfectly.  Winry lifts her head and lets the wrap slither down to hang from her elbows, realizing why everyone but she thought so abbreviated a top suitable for early spring.  Clearly, red silk generates its own heat.

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this piece comes from a line in a sentimental poem by John Boyle O'Reilly, "The White Rose."


End file.
